


Little Dancer Girl

by jenefur



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Slight spoilers, Svetlana POV, but nothing too graphic, slight dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenefur/pseuds/jenefur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, only sometimes, Svetlana loves her husband. But, mostly, she understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Dancer Girl

When she was a little girl, Svetlana wanted to be a dancer.

She wanted to spin, around and around, on stage, in white tights and long dresses, hair up and pinned back, with the world below watching her.

She wanted to be a household name, a woman of grace and fame and talent. She wanted to be just like the girls on the posters she would see on the walls of the city, proper and prim, pristine and untouchable.

She wanted to be cherished.

But when you’re poor, there’s no money for dancing; there’s barely enough money for food, let alone silent dreams of little girls. 

So she packed it away, her dream of dancing, and focused on real, tangible things.

When her father sells her to America, she doesn’t mind.

-  
Its not what she is expecting, but Svetlana is not surprised.

Terry is nice enough; he’s loud, he drinks too much, he takes what he needs and leaves, but she is used to all of this. And he’s gone soon enough anyway. 

It is her husband who makes things difficult.

He doesn’t act like any man she seen; he’s jerky, in his movements and his voice. He takes charge when he needs to, but seems reluctant to grab the things that he wants. 

He doesn’t touch her. And he’s afraid of his father.

All of this she could live with. She could be the doting homemaker from all of the American television shows; the wife who cooks and cleans, the wife whose husband comes home late from doing God knows what. They could be that: a couple that looks good on paper, but have nothing to do with each other. 

A couple of people living in the same house and never once speak.

They could have been that. But there’s the baby. 

The baby and her husband’s boyfriend. 

Before the baby is born, she thinks she might hate her husband.

After the baby is here, she knows she does.

So she threatens him, threatens the orange boy. She threatens and threatens and threatens some more, because he didn’t want this baby, but neither did she, not like this, and she will not be stuck doing this alone.

When she goes to work, her hands work nimbly around some nameless cock, her fingers dancing to the rhythm of her cold breath in the stale apartment air. 

As she wipes another load off her sticky fingers, she thinks of her husband and his orange boy, with their soft looks and fleeting glances. 

They have a freedom that she can’t afford. 

She looks at the poor shit shack of a work place and thinks she’s earned the right to resent them.

-

The baby is fed, Nika is in the living room, and there are puffy eggs in the oven. 

She is big, full with a child that is not her own. Her husband’s brother is staring at her girlfriend’s chest, while the orange boy washes dishes the kitchen.

It’s the most at peace she’s felt in a while.

Her husband is still her husband, still the same, yet different, and she thinks it’s the other boy that does it.

He is cleaned up now, hair fixed and in a tie. He talks to her more. 

He talks to the baby.

As he continues to fuss with his tie, she kisses him on the cheek and thinks “I love you, I love you” because she’s safe, she’s fed, and she’s not quite happy, but she’s close and that’s more than she thought she’d have a year ago.

When she meets with the parents of the child she is birthing, she’s all laughs and easy smiles, mouth dancing to the tune of the words they want to hear.

When she comes home, her husband is in his room with his lover and she goes to her room with hers.

It’s not the American television family she’s seen, but she’s happy for it anyway.

-

Everything is fine, until the house is too clean and there’s luggage in the hallway.  
Everything’s fine, until it isn’t.

\- 

When the baby is back and the orange boy is gone, she goes into her husband’s room.

It’s still dark out, sun barely peaking through the windows. 

Her husband is there, sitting on the edge of his bed, head burrowed in his hands. She knows he didn’t sleep much, not since they took the boy away.

She goes into the room, hesitant, because even though he is her husband, he isn’t really _hers_. He hasn’t ever been. 

She sits next to him, sliding slowly into place and turns her head to look at him. His head is still buried in his hands, his shoulders hunched, his back bowed forward. 

She puts a hand on his shoulder and feels his whole body tense up. 

“It’s ok,” she murmurs, voice light, “it’s going to be ok.”

For a moment, he does nothing, and she can hear his breath in the air. 

Suddenly, with a snap, he’s on her, hands up her shirt, pants pulled down to her knees.

He hasn’t done this with her, not for a long time, not since the orange boy moved in.

He’s in her quickly, cock hot inside her, movement jerky and fast.

There’s no rhythm to his movements, no steps she can follow, and not nearly what she needs to get off. But this isn’t about that.

His eyes are clenched tight and his breath is leaving him too fast, and she knows that this isn’t about that.

He doesn’t kiss her; they haven’t kissed since the wedding ( _orange boy lives in this room and she’s felt Nika’s tongue down her throat, of course there’s no kissing_ ), just fast thrusts and heavy breathing.

His hand comes up and curl’s into her red hair, holds tight like it’s the only thing keeping him down. So she moves her arms around him, and thrusts back hard into him, because she loves him, she does, in a broken, shattered, _damaged_ way and if this is what he needs, she can do it. 

“ _It’s ok_ ,” she says, words leaving her mouth in Russian before she can catch them, “ _it’s going to be ok_.”

It only lasts a couple minutes. He comes with a shout, as though the pleasure of it all takes him by surprise. 

He pulls out, and moves to the side, face laying flat on the comforter. His hand is still curled around her bright red hair.

Its quiet for a moment and then she hears it; the shallow breathing of her husband.

It’s too uneven to be normal, too loud to ignore; he’s crying.

The sun is still only barely peaking through the windows. It can’t be later than 7. 

She has to get up, has to get ready. She needs to check the baby, make food, then visit the parents of the child she is carrying. There are many things she needs to do.

Instead, she turns to her side and places a hand onto her husband, fingers dancing in circles on his back. He doesn’t face her, but the hand on her hair pulls a bit more. 

There are many things that Svetlana needs to do today, but she stays, just for a little while, because she’s not quite happy with how her life turned out to be, but neither is he, and this, at least, she understands.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I love Svetlana and I love this super complex family unit these people have. I really really need Svetlana and Ian to interact more cuz that would be fantastic.
> 
> This is un-betaed so if you see any issue please do let me know
> 
> you can come talk to me here if you'd like: [x](http://thedestroyerdraxx.tumblr.com/)


End file.
